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PoetósferaLa BibliotecaWalter Herries Pollock

Walter Herries Pollock · Vanguardias / s. XX

Issue 1805 — Memory

inglés

All down the river's stretch I float,

While song-birds carol in the air;

Sweet ripples swirl about my boat,

And all the wakening world is fair.

The world is fair: I should be glad

When Nature showers her gifts on me,

Ah me! my portion is the sad

Sweet bitterness of memory;

And all my world is in one face,

One face upon the distant shore,

That looks and longs for me, whose place

Is with the live who live no more.

For surely this is death in life,

To know that I can never move

The fates, and that no toil or strife

Can ever win me her I love.

I hear the loud cicalas sing

Upon the river's grassy slope,

And still their ceaseless chirrups ring

Two weary words, "No hope — no hope."

O fond white arms that loved to play

About my neck and soothe my pain,

Will there be nevermore a day

For me to know your touch again?

O soft low voice that loved to tell

Sweet tales to my enraptured ears!

O voice that answered mine so well,

In laughter and in loving tears!

O love, my lost, my only love,

Who make the barren years so slow,

I see you in the skies above,

And in the whirling stream below,

Where all the ripples sound and swell

With all the words you spoke to me,

Till life once more runs smooth and well,

While I am fooled by memory.

Come back, O love, to speak one word,

One little word before I die,

One of the many I have heard

And always hear in memory.

It cannot be. The visions wane

And pale before reality;

The world is cold and bare again —

There is no joy in memory.

Yet could I only this believe,

That some day in the heaven they dream

We two should meet, I'd cease to grieve,

The heavy time would lightened seem.

Nought see I but this wretched world,

A shore whereon the fierce wind drives

Weird wrecks upon the shingle hurled,

The jetsam of divided lives.

What hard and weary punishment

The awful fates contrive for men:

They will not let me give, content.

All days of now for one of them!

Ah no! Where'er I pass my years,

That darken on the deathward slope,

Those words will echo in mine ears,

Those weary words, "No hope — no hope!"

II.

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Autor
Walter Herries Pollock
Título
Issue 1805 — Memory
Lengua
inglés
Época
Vanguardias / s. XX
Sala
La Biblioteca
Identificador
ws-en-issue-1805-memory--walter-herries-pollock-e46624
Cita recomendada
Walter Herries Pollock, «Issue 1805 — Memory», Poetósfera, poetosfera.com/p/ws-en-issue-1805-memory--walter-herries-pollock-e46624.html

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